Nothing More to Say
by mswainwright
Summary: A one-shot about a very special moment in Tom and Sybil's marriage. It is an epilogue of sorts to my story Things Left Unsaid. It takes place between DA2 and the DA2 Christmas Special. I do not own these characters, but am just inspired by them. Enjoy!


_This is a one shot, a short meditation on Mr. and Mrs. Branson. The draft sat in my computer folder 2/3's done since the spring. I finally decided to finish it. It's an epilogue of sorts to my last effort Things Left Unsaid, so there are some references to events in that story. It's that story's Tom and Sybil that I imagine in this scene. Hope you like it. Let me know what you think. ENJOY! _

NOTHING MORE TO SAY

Ribbons of white clouds arced above the Dublin sky. Its hues kaleidoscopically shifted from orange to violet to deep purple as the sun rapidly dipped below the horizon. Dazzled by the evening spectacle, Sybil traced her gaze from west to east. She contemplated how the same sun was also setting on her beloved Downton Abbey—far away in distance and soon to be in time. As a little girl she remembered how exhilarating it was to watch the sun go down, its wake spraying the darkness with stars. She recalled the voice of her governess patiently naming and pointing to the constellations—"Perseus frees Andromeda; look there's luminous Cassiopeia!" The dome of the night sky had ignited her curiosity about the world beyond the gates of her family's Yorkshire estate. That little girl had imagined that someday she would experience all of its intricacies and wonders. These remembrances of her former home crept into her thoughts as she methodically laced the ties that closed the front of her silk peignoir—a wedding gift from her sister Mary. Beneath the clutter of random memories, a profound joy buoyed her spirits. Giddy anticipation heightened her mood. It was at long last her wedding night.

The window of their new flat overlooked a patchwork of small roofs that made up her new neighborhood—a modest middle class part of Dublin. Although life in this strange new city had been off to a bumpy start, she quickly found her footing. She handled with aplomb all that came her way—both family and professional. She had cultivated a trusting relationship with Branson's immediate family. Although it had not been easy bridging what was initially a vast cultural and class divide. Not everyone in his family had been won over and two of his cousins still gave her a chilly welcome at their wedding reception. But she had made headway with those closest to him. Based on the kind words offered by Mrs. Branson after the ceremony, his mother had finally grown to accept that this English aristocrat-cum-nurse was the woman that made her son immensely happy.

Her own family was still somewhat divided at the prospect of her marrying the former chauffeur. She was disappointed that her parents and grandmother did not attend her wedding. She presumed her father was still stewing in his anger, although his recent letter did not betray his dour mood. She had hoped her mother, whose health had returned since her bout with influenza, would at least make the journey. She suspected Mama had decided to respect her husband's wishes and not grant further validation to what Papa saw as a grave error in his daughter's judgment. She hoped eventually their reticence would turn to approval. In spite of her father's criticism, however, she had been determined to follow through with her plan to marry Branson. And today she had done just that.

Not all in her family were against the marriage. Much to her great joy, Mary and Edith came over the week before the wedding. To their credit her sisters made little fuss about the lack of a grand ceremony for their youngest sibling. They brought news from home and updated her on all of the happenings around the household—especially the sad news of Mr. Bates continued incarceration. In the care of her sisters also arrived a small parcel from her grandmother. When she opened the velvet case she discovered that Violet had given her a beautiful string of pearls, exquisite and elegant, but by no means ostentatious. The delicate necklace complimented perfectly her crème colored wedding dress—a gift from her sisters—and her simple veil—a gift from Branson's mother.

Despite her parents' absence, the ceremony had been a wonderful occasion held in a small local church. In his dark grey suit, Branson had never looked more handsome. As she walked toward him down the aisle of the church, she could tell from the enormous grin that broke across his face that everyone had chosen well for her. When she arrived at the altar, he softly whispered_ "_beautiful!"

Their small five-room flat on the fourth floor, a far cry from a fifty-bedroom castle, was now her home and it was her first night sleeping here. And yet it didn't quite feel like home. She couldn't quite name it but she still felt restless, not planted in the ground. She took a deep breath to calm what she thought was a bout of nervousness at what was about to happen. However, the bedroom's air felt stagnant. She raised her left hand to undo window latch to let in the early summer breeze, but it failed to budge. Frustrated, she would leave it to Branson to repair the latch—adding it to the list of things to fix in their new home.

She had come to the bedroom to change out of her wedding attire into her nightgown while Branson waited patiently for her in their sitting room. With the last bow complete, she embarked upon her next task: unpinning her hair, which had been done up by her sisters in an elaborate mountain of dark curls. She longed to be rid of this time consuming ritual and pondered whether cutting her hair would to make it easier to contend with in her daily toilette given her new life without servants. Cutting it shorter would also be more fashionable in the manner of the hairstyles she had recently seen in Mary's French fashion magazine. _Yes,_ she would attend to this next week before she began her new position at the hospital. Even though everything in her life and around her was in a state of transition, she was at peace with her choices.

The apartment seemed eerily silent absent the sound of footsteps scurrying about—no servants or more recently Branson's family. She imagined that the silence would soon disappear once there were children afoot, a prospect she both savored and feared. On the day they almost made love in his room at the Grantham Inn, she had had a small taste the sweetness of sexual pleasure. Over the course of these past weeks her longing for him had only grown in intensity— the thinness of their clothes that separated her skin from his, the firmness of his forearms as they grabbed her waste, his lips as they brushed her neck. She knew that tonight would also inaugurate her life as a woman capable of bearing children. _How would she maintain her independence while caring for a family? _She hadn't a clue. But she was sure her new husband, her beloved husband, would help her stay on their path to happiness.

Although it was quiet, she did not feel alone. Something deep inside her soul flickered—she could feel him near. In fact he had been standing at the bedroom door watching her as she pulled out the last hairpins. She wanted him close. She wanted him.

* * *

The twilight cascaded into their bedroom painting the walls with a warm orange glow. Branson watched Sybil—bathed in the ethereal light—gazing out of the window. He could sense in the intensity of her gaze that she was deep in thought, perhaps recollections of Downton colored her reverie. The long rays from the sunset also illuminated the sheer fabric of her nightgown and he could detect the gentle curves of her waist and hips. When she turned slightly, he could see the outline of her breasts. She looked ravishing, just as she did when he beheld her that summer day in her grandmother's rose garden, the afternoon she confessed her love for him.

He was still enthralled by her raw beauty. His knees almost buckled upon greeting her at the altar; "beautiful," he had whispered. In the back of his mind, he was somewhat overwhelmed that a daughter of an English peer had fallen in love with and agreed to marry a working class lad from Dublin. In light of his steadfast political beliefs, it all seemed improbable that he would have familial ties with aristocracy. Even though the war had turned everything on its head and change was clearly in the making, his new father-in-law and former employer still held fast to the belief that his superior class was best suited, by inherited right, to guide the moral tenor and economic future of the less-well-off masses. This profound disagreement over who should rule whom fueled Lord Grantham's smoldering anger and disapproval of their marriage. The two high-minded men would most likely always be at loggerheads over this point, but he would for his wife's sake try to be civil and accommodating. Adding fuel to the flames of contention, he was disappointed that her parents did not attend their wedding today. From his perspective, their apologetic letter thinly veiled her father's disdain for the union. He was angry that Lord Grantham's arrogance and stubbornness would cause such deep disappointment and heartbreak to a caring, generous woman, his own daughter, when all she did was make a choice about how she wanted to live her life and with whom. He would do his best to build a new family with her here in Dublin. He vowed today that he would make her deliriously happy.

From what he could discern, Sybil seemed pleased with their new home. Even though it would take some time to make the five room flat comfortable along with a few things about the house needed repair, such as some of the window latches, she didn't seem to mind that this modest abode lacked the amenities she had been accustomed to since she was born. Quite the contrary, she seemed to relish a more simple life along with the anonymity it granted. While staying at his mother's home, she had confessed to him one night that while she viewed and valued the servants as an integral part Downton, she didn't miss their constant presence. By contrast she welcomed the prospect that she would be in charge of running her new home and enjoyed the intimacy of sharing it with only him for a while, at least until there were children running about. Marriage, home life, and work had finally come together in a way that he could never have imagined when he left Dublin six years ago to take a new position as a chauffeur for a family in North Yorkshire.

His work life, however, was not completely settled. He was proud of his contributions to raising public awareness of the Republican cause for independence from England, a new responsibility that was exhilarating but also came with risks. He wished his new position paid more money to support his new wife. He would never cast her into the depths of want that he had experienced at certain moments in his youth. _How could he improve his income, while not to compromising his commitment to a free Ireland?_ He did not know, but this exquisite woman standing before him would guide him to the right decision.

These first months of their marriage would certainly test them both. But he knew she was loyal and her steely resolve would carry her through anything. After all they had dealt with the challenges of her family's disapproval and faced a myriad of challenges in their efforts to settle in Dublin. Through it all she had stood by his side as his champion, confidant, and friend, but most importantly as his equal. She was a remarkable woman, no longer the inquisitive and headstrong girl he used to drive to and from the village and Ripon. She had a passion for her work, for her family, and for him. Her sexual passion was something he looked forward to finally experiencing tonight, their wedding night. Eager to drink of that once forbidden pleasure, he quietly crossed the threshold into the bedroom.

* * *

Sybil combed her fingers through her loosely curled tresses searching for the last few hairpins. She heard Branson's footsteps as he entered the room and soon stood behind her. She felt the radiant heat of his body.

"Let me," he said softly.

"Thank you,"she replied_. _

She dropped her hands to her sides as he lifted up the mane that cascaded down her back. Exposing the nape of her neck, he found and pulled out the last two pins that Edith had used to hold her hair in place. He laid the pins on the side table. With her mass of curls still in his hand, he gently kissed the back of her neck. He found her faint scent of violets intoxicating. Sybil closed her eyes at the pleasure of soft pecks. He took her hair in his other hand and continued his kisses on the other side of her nape.

She released a slight gasp—"Yes!"—at the waves of pleasure unleashed by his carefully placed kisses.

He let go of her hair and encircled his arms around her waist. He pulled her supple body against his as the desire for her intensified. She shuddered as the contours of his muscular body met the arc of her back. She wrapped her arms over his and he tightened his hold. Beneath the whisper thin layers of her peignoir and nightgown, he could feel the roundness of her breasts touching his forearms. He'd never felt anything so erotic. Her raven locks felt like silk against his face. He leaned in to kiss the side of her cheek.

She pivoted in his embrace. She threw her arms around his neck, her fingers eagerly groping inside his collar to caress the nakedness of his skin. Their lips joined in a fierce kiss. Her breasts, nipples rigid, pressed again his cotton shirt. He needed to feel every inch of her soul. His hand reached down and pulled up her leg to wrap it around his body. He stroked her thigh. Kissing feverishly, their tongues danced with passion. Through his pants, she could feel his hardness pushing against the thin sheath of her bloomers. His excitement made her almost wild as she began to fumble with the buttons of his shirt. She hastily helped him remove it and he pulled off his undershirt. He unlaced the bows of her peignoir, which glided gently to the floor once she peeled it off.

He whispered, almost as if asking her: "my love."

"Yes…oh Tom, yes," she hungrily replied, she could wait no longer.

He lifted her up and she wrapped both legs around him this time. She massaged the taut contours of his naked chest. Grabbing handfuls of silk, he kneaded her buttocks causing her head to fall back. Her fingers dug into his shoulders as the waves of pleasure intensified. She ached with desire. He turned, gently placed her on the bed, and climbed on top.

There was nothing more to say.


End file.
